


Deal with a Devil

by OldBeginningNewEnding



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Bets & Wagers, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Marathon Sex, Marking, Mutual Masturbation, Play stupid games win stupid prizes, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Seduction, Top Crowley (Good Omens), play sexy games win sexy prizes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24294787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldBeginningNewEnding/pseuds/OldBeginningNewEnding
Summary: A little wager in which Crowley and Aziraphale see who can resist the other longest.“What kind of prize do you have in mind?”“Anything you’d like, angel,” Crowley sang. “Well, anything I’d like, I should say.”“Well, there’s this absolutely lovely ensemble that I thought would look rather fetching on you —”“Is it bloody tartan—”“Tartan’s stylish!”"Fine, but when I win—” And suddenly, he was there before Aziraphale, crowding him against a sturdy bookcase, the air between their mouths barely enough for the soft gasp that left his angel’s lips. “When I win,” he murmured, “I want that delicious arse of yours marked with my sigil.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 102
Kudos: 350





	1. Play Stupid Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sadwendigo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadwendigo/gifts).



> author is currently anxious and copes with writing smut. also the lovely sadwendigo gave me the prompt and well of course i gotta deliver.

Crowley couldn’t get enough of this—

_“Ah—ah, oh Crowley, please—!”_

Of feeling his angel, hot, _tight_ around him, in a mess of dripping lust and panting moans, crying out for release, crying out for Crowley.

Between those soft, bruise-littered thighs, Crowley slowed his hips to take a breath and admire the sight beneath him: _exquisite_ , Aziraphale looked best painted in morning sunlight, bathed in colors of sunset, and caressed in moonbeams. Better yet, he looked even more ravishing atop the strewn sheets of Crowley’s bed, cheeks flushed and pretty, pink mouth panting out the syllables of his name.

Then Crowley was tugged down to a lovely, biting kiss, swallowing his angel’s cries as he lovingly lifted a plush thigh to plunge even deeper. _Demanding_ _thing,_ Crowley thought, not without a spike of love for his hedonistic lover at the sweet whine it earned him. Grabbing at the ample flesh of his angel’s hips, he thrusted faster, the erratic rhythm making the bed creak in-between Aziraphale’s sobbing cries. Always so impatient, always happy to indulge and just as well, Crowley was always keen to indulge him. One of these days, he’d have to teach his angel the merits of drawing out his orgasm, edging him to the brink of ruin before sending him to the heights of ecstasy.

But he was only a mere besotted fool himself, weak to his angel’s desires—

And if his angel wanted to cum right this second, who was Crowley to deny him?

There was a scream, the tightening of his lover’s walls around his hard, throbbing Effort, a gush of wetness between their bodies, and a sated, absolutely _fucked-_ out look in those sea-storm eyes. Not three seconds after, Crowley followed suit with a shout, spilling deep inside his angel as his teeth clamped down to his angel’s well-marked neck.

Crowley let out a shuddering sigh, euphoria abating to a strange, dizzying joy he didn’t think was possible for one of the damned to bask in. And yet, here he was: lying atop Aziraphale, listening to his angel’s heartbeat slow and steady itself, and feeling himself immediately get hard at the knowledge that, _yes,_ his angel can—in fact—cum from getting fucked in the arse alone.

He was half-considering another round, maybe tease his angel a bit more and see how long they can have some fun without letting it end—

“What…oh, dear. What time is it?” 

Crowley hummed, both in answer and questioning himself. He wasn’t quite sure of what hour, day, or month it was for that matter. He only knew the times when he was without his lover1— ** _lover_** , could a luckier demon exist?— which hadn’t been for quite a while, and Crowley was _far_ from complaining.

Still, his angel asked a question and awaiting a proper answer. Crowley managed to give a lazy snap to his fingers, drawing his phone from wherever he’d last left it with a bit of demonic miracling. The battery was dangerously low. He glanced at the calendar, reading out loud “September 12th”, before tossing the phone to Satan-knows-where corner of his room to resume his afterglow cuddling.

At least, he _was_ , until Aziraphale sat up with a startled, “ _September 12 th?!”_

Crowley stifled a groan, still attempting to spoon the now-fretting angel. The damage was done, however, and all-too-soon his angel slipped out of bed despite Crowley’s valiant attempts in holding him still.

“Four _months?!”_

The demon grimaced, finding it quite hard to sleep—or coax his lover back into his arms—given that revelation. “Yes, angel. Kindly get back in bed?”

“Crowley, I have to check up on my shop!”

“It’s _fine,_ angel.” Crowley gave a yawn, unsure if the cozy doziness he was feeling was more due to having had another lovely orgasm not three minutes ago, or the sudden realization that his sleep-accustomed corporation had just gone and fucked his angel for a solid four months. “If anything’s happened—we can miracle it all back to place.” He opened a bleary eye to his angel pouting. “ _I_ can miracle it all back to place.” 

He hid a smirk at the literal sound of Aziraphale considering his offer.

Crowley, after all, was a master of _temptation._ He gave the rumpled sheets a pat, having already removed the previous mess(es) away. He lifted the sheets, calling out invitingly, “Now come rest a while with me, hm? It’s late anyways.”

That was a lie; it was approximately 5 PM when he checked the phone, but with the dusty skies, it was an easy enough fib. Crowley curled around his angel in triumph at the first dip of the mattress, pulling the warm, soft body close.

“Well…just for a little while longer,” Aziraphale qualified, resolve shattered. “After that, I should probably go check up on the shop.” 

“Mmmm…” and while that wasn’t much of an answer at all, Crowley responded better with a kiss to soft, white curls while he reveled in being warm and loved.

* * *

About a week later, Aziraphale pulled away from him with a scowl. “Oh, you _foul_ fiend…”

“Guilty,” Crowley snickered, reaching for another kiss before Aziraphale started pulling away again. “Oh, come on, angel—” he pouted as Aziraphale rolled away from him to stretch his aching corporation. “It’s not like you didn’t do your fair share of instigating.” He gave a waggle of his brows. “Enticing me by slipping my prick between those full globes of that arse of yours—very effective by the way.”

Aziraphale sputtered, turning a deep, lovely shade of red. “You’re blaming _me_ for spending four months—”

“A _week_ and four months,” Crowley added smugly.

“—doing nothing b-but— _fornicating?!”_ There was a sear of hurt in Crowley’s chest before Aziraphale blinked and immediately corrected: “Making love. We were making love, Crowley.”

It lightened the sting quite a bit, but what really soothed it was Aziraphale, bending down to make it up to him with a soft, tender kiss. “It’s all right, angel,” he muttered against those reddened lips.

“No, Crowley, I am sorry—I…of course I enjoyed my time with you. I love being with you, Crowley.” He cleared his throat, eyes darting away with a blush as he gesticulated between them. “Clearly,” and at that, the demon chuckled. “But it’s not like we can stay in bed forever, dear.”

A part of Crowley immediately piped up with, _Why the hell not?_ but he tamped it down immediately. Because Aziraphale was right, much to the demon’s chagrin. “ _Fine_ ,” he groused, rolling over to get up. “But don’t come whining to me when you want to cum on all fours again—”

Aziraphale reddened beautifully at that. “Oh how dare you, like you weren’t waking me up in-between dozes to just _‘Shush, just lie back and take it, angel.'_ ” 

Crowley smirked. “You didn’t say no.”

Aziraphale scoffed, a gleam of annoyance in those lovely sea-storm eyes. “You didn’t deny me, either.”

 _No, and I never will,_ Crowley thought, Effort piping up with interest, especially as Aziraphale left the bed, naked in all his heavenly glory to hunt down his (likely ruined) clothes. A stroke of pure genius or sheer idiocy sparked in his mind, curious to see how long Aziraphale would go denying himself, especially now that he’s had a taste of _this_ earthly pleasure. Maybe there was hope for him in teaching his angel the slow, torturous pleasure of edging, of staving off completion, of having his patience _finally_ pay off. Crowley hummed, knowing better than to push the issue, but also knowing quite well that he himself was a glutton for punishment.

“Of course, I wouldn’t, angel,” Crowley called out, tone lazy and lackadaisical. “Not when you beg so prettily to get fucked.”

More sputtering ensued and Crowley snickered at the affronted, _“Excuse me?!”_ that followed.

“You,” he gave a pointed look at the head that popped through the door, dress shirt affixed and ridiculous bowtie missing. “Are a hedonistic little thing, angel. _Weak_ to pleasure,” he purred. “And I’m more than happy to give it to you.”

Aziraphale deadpanned. “Crowley, might I remind you that you were the one who trapped me in bed _a week_ after I said I should have gone to check up on my shop?”

“Excuses,” Crowley waved off, trying to keep a straight face despite the way his angel was playing right into his hands.

Those lovely, stormy eyes narrowed, and his angel’s pouty lips drew themselves to a stubborn line. “All right. How about we test your little _accusation_ —”

“Statement of fact,” Crowley corrected, smirking as he stretched his arms behind his head.

“—and see for ourselves who’s ‘ _weak to pleasure’_ as you call it?”

Crowley tried not to pump his fist in victory and instead tried to look like he wanted to ruminate on the question. “All right angel, you’ve got yourself a deal. Now,” he purred. “Why don’t we see who can hold out longest?”

Aziraphale brightened at that. “Excellent! I’ll see you in a week to work out the details—I’ve got to sort out some business affairs, I’m afraid.” And before Crowley’s face fell at the declaration, there was a call of, “All right dear, mind how you go—I love you!”

And then silence.

Well, except for the resounding scream of “Wait… _WHAT!?”_ that followed.

* * *

Crowley tried not to glare _too_ balefully at the angel as he bustled around his shop. “I thought you liked the dust—kept the customers away and all.”

“Oh hush, keeping away customers is one thing, but filth is another,” he chided but at the very least, he did put the feather duster aside. He turned to Crowley with a bright smile. “So! About our terms…”

Crowley perked up at that. It had been a rather bland week without his angel (okay, so what, he slept it off—he’d been _physically active_ for around four months after all), but maybe there was still hope yet to turn this predicament around. He leaned back against the familiar old couch, glasses off, and blatantly leering at his lover. “Simple right? See if you can resist _this_ ,” he purred as he gestured to himself, holding back a laugh at the unimpressed look on his angel’s face, “For as long as I can resist you.” He gave a seductive smirk. “And let me remind you angel, I’ve been patient for a _very_ long time.”

Not that Crowley would _like_ to wait another 6,000 years to shag his angel.

“So, no sex?” Aziraphale frowned.

“No sex,” Crowley grimaced, mood souring at the thought. He paused before adding, “Kissing’s all right though.”

“Fellatio?”

“ _Ngk—_ no, probably not.”

“Hmmm…” His angel turned a few more questions over in his head. “Masturbation?”

Crowley desperately wanted to say no. If his angel was getting himself off without Crowley to see it, there’d be hell to pay. “Nghh… _sure_. That’s fine.” Aziraphale brightened at that but Crowley was already formulating plans to use this little stipulation to his advantage. After all, since his angel’s had a taste for cumming on a real cock, there’d be no way Aziraphale would be satisfied with his own hand (and toys) for very long.

“Perfect!” his angel gave a polite smile, apparently having already made up his mind that this little contest of theirs would be easy.

But Crowley knew better—and the demon was already looking forward to claiming his victory. “How about we make this interesting,” Crowley offered, innocently enough. “Winner gets a prize?”

His angel considered this for a moment. “What kind of prize do you have in mind?”

 _Other than holding you down and fucking you like you were meant for it after teasing you to the brink of insanity?_ “Anything you’d like, angel,” Crowley sang. “Well, anything _I’d_ like, I should say.”

“Oh, don’t think you’ve won just yet, this just got interesting!” Aziraphale answered, nonplussed. “Hmmm...if I win, how about…Oh!” He turned to Crowley with a bright, sunshine smile that Crowley knew would end up causing contact embarrassment one way or another. “There’s this absolutely _lovely_ ensemble that I thought would look rather fetching on you when we go see everybody next month at Tadfield—”

“Is it bloody _tartan_ —”

“Tartan’s stylish!” Aziraphale sniffed.

Crowley made a show of rolling his eyes and sighing, exaggerating the groan that left his lips. It was all for show of course—if his angel really wanted, he wouldn’t mind adorning the little tartan tie…

 _Ugh_. What a wretched excuse of a demon he was, so clearly besotted by this angel and so very ready to bend to his most absurd whims. Wrapped around that plump, manicured little pinky for all eternity. However, as much as he worshipped the angel, he was still a demon through and through. And something—something that had tickled his fancy and something that he’d only entertained in quiet fantasies—

_something he would have already done, had he been a **crueler** being than his love-softened heart allowed him—_

came unbidden to the forefront of his thoughts. Crowley licked his lips in anticipation.

“Fine, but when _I_ win—” And suddenly, he was there before Aziraphale, crowding him against a sturdy bookcase, the air between their mouths barely enough for the soft gasp that left his angel’s lips. “When _I_ win,” he murmured, giving a rough squeeze to the delightful, round backside he’d gotten _very_ well acquainted with over the past four months, “I want that delicious arse of yours marked with my sigil.”

 _“C-Crowley!”_ his angel gasped, and Crowley very nearly threw his head back in a laugh as he felt his angel’s _opinions_ on the matter, very apparent from between his legs.

“Let it be a little reminder of who you belong to, angel,” he growled, giving the shell of his ear a small nip, feeling a flash of desire spark through his corporation at the sharp, keening noise Aziraphale made. “Because when you give in, I’ll be sure to see to it that you _never_ forget.” 

Then, in the blink of an eye, Crowley was back to his seat on the sofa, eyes gleaming wickedly as he sat there, the epitome of calm, control, (and definitely not this close to jumping his angel with those sweet, reddened cheeks, pupils wide and breathing erratic, no, no of course not). “Do you agree to our terms, Aziraphale?”

He watched the angel swallow thickly, a desperate energy in the look of longing and _want_ in his eyes. Aziraphale seemed to catch himself as he then blinked and cleared his throat, hastily rebuilding the confidence he had prior. “R-right! I agree to your terms.”

He crossed the room and held his hand out to shake.

“Oh angel,” Crowley purred, taking his hand and sealing the deal with a kiss. “You should know better than to make a deal with a devil.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two-parter? Possibly Three-parter? We'll see.
> 
> (1 - Jorge Luis Borges: "Estar contigo o no estar contigo es la medida de mi tiempo"/ Being with you and not being with you is the only way I have to measure time)


	2. Loopholes and Technicalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which sexual-psychological warfare is had, but neither party are too unhappy at the results.

In Crowley’s defense—his angel gave it just as good.

 _“Mmmm—ah!”_ Aziraphale gasped as Crowley pushed him against the back seat of the Bentley, squirming deliciously beneath him as the demon made quick work of his waistcoat and shirt.

And really—a demon could only take so much.

“You little _tease_ ,” he growled against his angel’s hungry lips. Hungry, always hungry, letting out soft little moans and wrapping his lips between delicate bites and sending Crowley knowing looks across the table. _Devil’s Food Cake_ he’d ordered, licking away the chocolate ganache with a taunting swipe of that pink tongue Crowley had the utter blessing of having pleasured his Effort not two weeks prior.

“Do you want me, Crowley?” his angel taunted, flushed and pretty against the seats, ridiculous bowtie hanging loosely from his neck, shirt open with buttons scattered across the floor of the car from when Crowley had gotten a smidge impatient.

“Oh, I always want you, angel,” Crowley groaned, marking up that fair, fair neck, far above where his neat, tidy little collar sat, and letting his customers know _exactly_ what Mr. Fell got up to in his free time. His angel tasted—divine, really. Like milk and honey, sweet on his tongue, pure and clean, and nothing drove a demon wilder than having something so lovely and innocent to have, take, and debauch.

And Aziraphale, the lovely, infuriating thing, knew just that.

As much as Crowley wanted to throw in the towel and throw off his clothes to have his angel, Crowley was even more desperate not to lose. So, as much as it killed him on the inside, he drew away from his angel’s neck and pressed a firm, punishing kiss to that chocolate-sweet mouth. He then began the painstaking task of buttoning up his angel’s shirt (after a quick miracle to repair the damage) and waistcoat while the adorable thing glared at him with exasperation.

“But nice try, darling,” he snickered, willing his Effort down and pressing another kiss to Aziraphale’s pouting cheek. “I’ve endured centuries of lunches,” _and had to take a nice, long, wank afterwards_ “and have resisted the urge to take you right then and there on the table before. This won’t break me.” He exited the back seat with a wink and shut the door, reveling in the sweet, sweet look of utter annoyance in his angel’s eyes before sauntering over to the driver’s seat.

He glanced to his left, finding Aziraphale glumly sitting on the passenger’s side, jacket and waistcoat affixed to its proper form. If it weren’t for the fresh lovebites littering his angel’s neck, one would have never guessed what almost happened back there.

“Oh don’t look so down, love,” Crowley chuckled, reaching for his angel’s hand and delighting in the way those delicate, plump fingers entwined with his despite the exasperation just radiating off of him. “I’m sure the contest will be over soon enough.”

“Giving in soon, then?” was the quick retort and Crowley felt his ribs creak with the swell of love he carried for this utter bastard. “If I had known a simple dinner would drive you to the brink of surrender, I would have taken caution when it came to indulging in front of you.”

“No need to worry, angel,” he replied easily, smoothing his thumb over Aziraphale’s knuckle. “I think I’ve got quite a bit more control than that. I’m a very, very patient demon.” He snickered, making a wide turn and feeling Aziraphale instinctively tighten his hold on his hand. “And you, love, are a very impatient angel.”

Crowley could see it in those longing looks Aziraphale sometimes shot him when he thought Crowley wasn’t watching. Besides, Crowley wasn’t so cruel as to deny his angel affection or pleasure—they indulged in kissing, touching—nothing below the belt of course, but indeed, maybe that _was_ crueler in the end. Marking up his angel for all to see, slipping between those plush thighs and tantalizing him with nothing but teeth-sharp kisses and dark, dark promises to simply give in and let Crowley take care of him.

Yep…only a matter of time.

* * *

His angel was taking far too long. So when it came for Crowley to strike, the demon was quite deliberate in his attacks. He knew exactly what his angel wanted, how his angel liked it, and knew for a damning fact that his angel _liked_ it when Crowley used a little bit of force when he had his way with him.

“O-oh, Crowley, what’s gotten into you?” Aziraphale gasped, shaking off the dazed look in his eyes, and trying to look stern in front of the demon despite the way he’d been so eagerly enraptured by a long, passionate kiss earlier.

Crowley grinned before giving his angel some space to scarper off if he so pleased. “What? A demon can’t lavish some affection on to his lover?”

“I know what you’re doing, _foul_ fiend,” Aziraphale shot back, cheeks adorably flushed.

“And what, pray tell, is that, angel?” Crowley murmured, eyes trained on his angel’s red-kissed lips.

“Y-you’re trying to get me to give in to win the bargain!” he argued, stumbling backwards in the dimly lit room of his shop.

Crowley smirked. “And how am I doing so far?” He took a step forward, internally chuckling as Aziraphale’s eyes darted to the entryway with anxiety, maybe entertaining thoughts of escape from lover’s _evil_ clutches. Aziraphale startled as suddenly, Crowley was behind him, chin resting on the curve of his shoulder while his hands came up to toy with the undone buttons of his dress shirt. “Feeling thoroughly tempted yet, love?”

“I…I have no idea what you mean…” he gasped as Crowley tugged at his collar, exposing that fair, fair neck.

Crowley nearly purred in pleasure at the sight of previous lovebites still visible, faintly healing on their own. “You’re a lousy liar, Aziraphale.” Because his angel wanted them there—wanted little reminders of how thoroughly his lover lavished attentions on him. He gave a soft kiss, feeling the pulse there jump and thrum with excitement. Reluctantly, he drew away with an exaggerated pout. “But fine. If my advances aren’t welcome, then I certainly won’t let you endure my presence any longer…”

“Well, I didn’t say that…” his angel— _bless_ him and his little pout— argued, twisting around to face the demon.

“Sorry angel, but I ah…have something to take care of,” Crowley murmured, shooting Aziraphale a pointed look. Once catching his gaze, he gave another look down to his crotch. Crowley didn’t even bother hiding his grin at the way his angel swallowed at the sight of the bulge visible from Crowley’s sinfully tight trousers.

He saw the tip of a pink tongue dart out to wet his lips and Crowley knew then he had him.

His angel had an oral fixation—that was a fact that Crowley had known for millennia and had been a great source of wanking material for nearly as long. Aziraphale certainly didn’t disappoint four months ago when he first took Crowley in his mouth, milking the demon dry and swallowing all he had to offer like a good little angel. His angel loved to be _stuffed_ and there was nothing lovelier to the demon than seeing Aziraphale full and sated, finally getting a taste of the pleasure that had been offered to him since the very beginning.

“Unless you’d like to join me, of course,” Crowley breathed out, just the softest hint of suggestion, the quietest lilt of _temptation_.

“O-oh but,” his angel stuttered, brows knitted together in that same way he always did when something stood between him and what he really wanted.

“It’s not against the rules, now is it angel?” Crowley supplied, careful not to leak any of the mounting desperation into his words. “I certainly wouldn’t mind giving you a show,” he purred.

Cautiously, accusingly, a frown was set on Aziraphale’s lips. “Tempting me again?”

Crowley smirked. “So you _are_ feeling tempted, then.” He stalked over to his angel, planting both hands on either side of him and caging the stubborn thing between himself and the wall. “Don’t you want to see what you do to me, Aziraphale?” he asked, eyes burning brightly with lust. Lifetimes ago, he’d dreamed of this very scenario, imagined a hundred ways in which Aziraphale would have gasped and coyly responded with his own insatiable curiosity, and imagined a thousand more all the ways he would have broken free from Crowley’s spell with a sputter of indignance and another century of hiding from the demon.

But now…

Now his angel was _his_ , and his angel knew that with every essence of his soul, every atom of his divinity. And he wasn’t turning away. “Don’t you want to see what you’ve been doing to me for millennia?” he murmured, letting his angel get a feel for exactly what he meant. 

Between a startled moan, a breathy gasp, their lips brushed ever-so-slightly, and Crowley grinned in triumph as he felt his angel’s body relax, _succumb_. It only took that moment to take full advantage of the opportunity, and with a snap of his finger, the room went dark. 

Aziraphale felt himself slammed against a cold wall, Crowley’s mouth hot against his own, the serpentine tongue tasting and claiming the wet cavern. His knees buckled at the rough treatment, drawing a moan from his throat that went straight to his demon’s cock. Pulling away, Aziraphale whined at the loss of contact, only to blink the stars from his eyes to realize they were back to where all the trouble began:

Crowley’s bed.

Crowley gave him a wink as he sauntered over, undressing as he did so. First the jacket, then the belt, then his shirt (and Aziraphale felt he had to look away somehow, as if the sight of his lover would actually burn him with the amount of heat flooding to his face as Crowley glanced over at him invitingly).

“Come closer, love,” the demon growled as he situated himself in the middle of the bed, adorned in only his tight, tight trousers.

Crowley bit back a smile at the adorable way Aziraphale scampered over, the fretful thing suddenly growing unsure by the time he got to the edge of the bed.

“Lay with me,” Crowley commanded and offered no further guidance as he toyed with the button of his pants.

Aziraphale gulped, feeling rather foolish. Just what _was_ he doing here? _Oh right, I’m here to watch my lover touch himself without being allowed to so much as suck him off,_ he thought glumly. Nevertheless, the angel toed off his shoes and removed his coat before slipping into bed, wary as ever at the cruel smirk on Crowley’s lips.

He undid the button now, locking eyes with his angel as he pulled the zipper down. He watched those sea-storm eyes cloud over with lust and _hunger_ as he drew out his dripping erection, that same tip of a pink tongue poking out to wet a plump bottom lip.

Crowley bit back a moan as he stroked himself, eyes trained on his lover’s face. “You know, it became a bit of a ritual,…” His cock ached at the remembrance of long, bitter nights where he’d spilled his seed at the memory of his angel, the barest scent of Aziraphale, and wild, wild imaginings of what it would be like to have the angel fall in bed with him—

(Because falling in _love?_ Oh, he was an imaginative creature but even Crowley couldn’t have fathomed that.)

He kept his eyes on Aziraphale, his _lovely,_ lovely angel, here in his bed after years and years of lust and longing; the gnawing agony in his chest nearly matching the need for his lover’s soft, warm mouth on his cock. “Rome, Wessex, The Globe Theater, the _bloody_ Bastille—”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale agreed, a mischievous light in his eyes, emboldened by the information that came to light. “You know, those chains were supposed to stay on a bit longer, dear.” His angel gave a demure smile and Crowley nearly came from his words and the bloody _imagery_ alone.

“You—” Crowley gasped, gripping at the base to keep himself from cumming as Aziraphale, his lovely, _cruel_ Aziraphale, swiped the beading tip of his cock and savored the drop of precum like icing on a cake.

He gave a satisfied hum before glancing over to Crowley with faux modesty. “You honestly didn’t think I came to Paris just for some crêpes, did you?” He chuckled, loosening his bowtie and beginning to undo the buttons of his waistcoat. “ _’Dressed_ _like that?’_ Crowley, you wound me.” 

_Fuck—fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck—_

“Angel—” _Were there other times? Other times you sought me out— other times you wanted me too?_ But Aziraphale merely smiled that polite, prim little upturn on his sweet lips as he laid on the bed beside him, a sadistic glee at the delicious desperation on his demon’s face. His plan had been to entice his lover, tempt him to have a taste of what’d been really craving all this time. Aziraphale was beyond well-read, but his lingual talents weren’t merely verbal—and Crowley’s had four _fantastic_ months of experience on just how much his angel loved to use his mouth. Of course, that plan _went down like a lead balloon._

Now, Crowley was painfully hard, just _watching_ Aziraphale watch him, letting the angel see for himself what he drove Crowley to—

As his bastard of an angel sighed blissfully, “Please, do go on, dear fellow.” He leaned over, pressing a chaste kiss to Crowley’s panting mouth. “I do believe you promised me a show.”

At the back of Crowley’s mind—the logical cunning in him—knew what his angel was doing. He knew his game. His angel loved playing the role of a brat, cutting words and selfish demands, and knew that it drove Crowley up the wall, and _drove_ him to teach his angel a lesson. Indeed, Aziraphale played his cards well. Any other time, Crowley would have pinned him to the bed and had his deliberate, _slow_ , wicked way with him until he cried out Crowley’s name, begging for release, for pleasure, for _Crowley_ in humbled desperation.

But right now, at the forefront of Crowley’s mind was how his angel wrapped those soft, pampered hands on his cock. Crowley choked off a moan, drawing away from his angel’s mouth with a hiss as he desperately tried not to buck into Aziraphale’s warm, warm touch.

“F-fuck angel…” he hissed, trying to muster up a glare, which was quite difficult to do when quickly approaching orgasm at the literal hands of your best friend and lover. But, _oh_ , Crowley couldn’t deny how lovely it felt, how Aziraphale gave firm strokes to his shaft, the precum from the dribbling tip of his cock lubing his grip and making a mess on his angel’s fingers. All the while, Aziraphale kept on with that same, coy smile.

Then the absolute _tosser_ up and went and withdrew his hand.

“Oh, you’re going to _regret_ that, Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed, feeling another spike of lust spear right through him as Aziraphale _shamelessly_ licked his hand clean. “You’re going to regret that _dearly_.”

And he looked positively _delicious_ doing so. “And how do you plan on doing that— _ah!”_

“Little demonic miracle of my own,” Crowley smirked, amber eyes roving over the delectably soft, plush body of his lover—interest especially piqued at the sight of the hard cock against his stomach. _Not so unaffected, were you?_ Crowley dove down for another kiss, maneuvering himself atop the angel and angling his body just-so to have the hardness of his prick rubbing against Aziraphale’s.

He greedily swallowed his angel’s moans, thrusting haphazardly to elicit more and more. If he couldn’t take this _insatiable_ creature and fuck him into oblivion, then he was going to make do giving his love a firm reminder of what they _could_ be doing if his spoiled little angel weren’t so stubborn.

(Never mind the fact that _he_ was being equally obtuse as well.)

And it was _good,_ hearing the stifled gasps and whines from Aziraphale, the _sight_ he made against his sheets, and the _scent_ of his desperation on his tongue—but _fuck_ it wasn’t enough. Not when he’s had his angel in the throes of passion, not when he’d had his lovely angel wailing for him in rapture, not when he’d had his cock sheathed in Aziraphale’s _tight, tight_ heat, milking him greedily for his cum.

Aziraphale held on to him, manicured nails digging into his back as he tried to match Crowley in rhythm; the poor thing was frantic, chasing orgasm the only way they were allowed. What else was Crowley to do but take pity? He reached between them, relishing in the cry it earned him as took Aziraphale’s cock in his hand and nearly bowled over in pleasure himself as Aziraphale took him in his. Crowley tried to focus, stroking the chubby cock in his hand, thumbing over the pearling slit as Aziraphale gave soft, teasing touches before applying just the right amount of pressure that made Crowley’s knees give out. Rolling over and side by side now, their mouths met in a frenzied mess of teeth and tongue as they stroked each other to completion.

Crowley, to his utter horror, came first, his cum coating Aziraphale’s fingers and splattering against his belly. Aziraphale needed a bit more encouraging, but finished with a _beautiful_ scream after Crowley “encouraged” him with a biting kiss to his well-marked neck.

 _Went down like a lead balloon, indeed,_ the demon thought _._ At the very least, the demon could congratulate himself in getting his angel back into his bed. He nuzzled closer to Aziraphale’s warmth, trying valiantly to ignore the way his angel licked his cum clean from his perfectly plump hand.

“Well, that was fun,” Aziraphale said after a moment of silence, the barest hint of a condescendence in his words. “But dear, you’ll have to do a bit better than _that_ to win our bargain.”

In reply, Crowley made an unintelligible noise, stubbornly refusing to admit defeat just yet as he snuggled closer to his angel.

* * *

It was twelve days after their little agreement and Crowley was already at the precipice of despair. He let this fact be quite well-known with how he demanded his angel’s attentions that afternoon: leaning too close, invading his little bubble, draping himself across the angel’s shoulders, and made a big show of petulance until Aziraphale entertained him. Not that Aziraphale particularly minded, given how Crowley’s amorous affections drove a customer or three away.

He rewarded the demon with a few, chaste kisses, but per their agreement, it never progressed past anything explicit. A lovebite here, a little grind there, and overall just _basking_ in his warmth and light.

And—don’t get the demon _wrong_ , if Aziraphale had an aversion to sex and all its pleasurable delights, then Crowley would manage just fine. It was the knowledge that Aziraphale wanted him, cried out for him, and came fantastically with unyielding lust and hunger that drove Crowley absolutely mad—

Because they both wanted it.

And now they were doing the _opposite_ of what either of them wanted.

Because, oh, want it Aziraphale did. He obviously didn’t admit to it, but it was more than evident from the dizzied look apparent on his face after parting from heady kisses, the way he clung at Crowley’s jacket when the demon motioned to move away, and from the way he was pouting prettily, the way he always did when there was a minor inconvenience that he could easily weasel Crowley into fixing for him.

He was a _damned_ brat and Crowley was desperately in love.

And it was just his _blessing_ that this damned brat loved him too.

When the afternoon faded to dusk and the pair retired to the back rooms for drinks, one thing indeed lead to another, and Crowley found himself sprawled atop the angel, kissing and biting absentmindedly on every inch of skin he could reach, while admiring the litany of soft gasps, moans, and whines that fell from his angel’s blessed mouth.

The alcohol was doing its best to suppress his hunger, but he still felt himself half-hard at the feast laid out before him. He traveled lower and lower, wondering if he could get away with a bit of heavy petting before Aziraphale yet again tempted him to surrender their bargain, to which their little game would begin anew. But as Crowley’s hand went to stroke him through his slacks, to his utter disappointment, Aziraphale didn’t even feel hard. In fact…Crowley didn’t feel anything at all.

Crowley frowned.

Technically, there wasn’t a rule against not wearing an Effort at all, but it wasn’t _like_ Aziraphale to—

_“A-ah!”_

Serpentine eyes widened.

Crowley pressed a thigh firmly between his angel’s legs, eliciting another, warbling cry, and the demon watched with pupil-blown fascination as the angel unconsciously rubbed himself against him. Crowley tasted the air about them, noting the familiar scent of his angel, the bookshop, the newly-acquainted tang of _lust_ his angel gave off—

And something else.

Something _much_ sweeter, between his angel’s thighs.

“Well, well,” Crowley murmured, unconsciously swallowing at the mouthwatering aroma. “Trying something new, are we angel?” And with that, tugged his lover’s pants down and marveled at the newest Effort his _devious_ little angel tried to hide from him.

Crowley grinned as he eyed the pretty little cunt, seeing it wet and glistening. No wonder he’d allowed Crowley to behave the way he did—no tent in his pants to cover while his customers were about. Flaxen hair and pretty pink lips, all nice and wet for him, and Crowley’s mouth watered at the sight.

Aziraphale, miles more sober than he’d previously been, instinctively tried to close his legs, but Crowley was having none of that.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groaned out, wanting to bury his face there and have a taste. “When did you get all nice and wet for me, darling? Hm? Since I started touching you how you like? Since the first bottle of wine we shared between snogging?” He grinned darkly, tracing a finger at the sopping entrance, watching Aziraphale _writhe_. “Or since this afternoon?” His angel made an embarrassed sound at that as Crowley cupped the chubby mound, thumb close to where he knew it would drive his angel crazy. “Have you been wet for me all day, Aziraphale?”

“Crowley,” he’d managed, eyes bleary with desire. _“Please_ , Crowley…”

Crowley wanted to cry in victory. “Just say the word, angel,” he murmured, pressing a teasing kiss to his angel’s inner thigh. “Say the word and I’ll show you just how nicely I can fill your aching cunt.”

Then Aziraphale made a frustrated noise. He glared at Crowley, all enticing need and desperation wiped clean from his face. With a huff, he moved to get up. Crowley panicked instantly. “W-wait, angel, are you—”

“I was…” Aziraphale’s rosy blush reddened as he propped himself up on his elbows. “I was hoping it would make you, err…”

Crowley raised a brow. “You were hoping I’d lose all sense of myself and fuck you and lose the bargain?”

“Err…yes. Rather.” His angel gave him a sheepish look

Crowley wanted to cry in despair. “Good effort,” he managed to mutter out.

Aziraphale sighed, still uncomfortably aroused. “Thank you, dear. I’d never had a vulva before—”

“No, I mean—it was a good try.” He sighed, looking mournfully at the pretty, pretty cunt his angel made just for him. All smooth lips, delicious slit, and sweetly slicked. “I really do want to, though.”

“But not enough to lose our bargain?” Aziraphale teased, spreading his legs further.

“ _Ngk_ …” Crowley glowered at him. Oh, he’d remember this. “And pass up the opportunity to claim that fat bottom of yours with my mark? Yeah right,” he sniffed, still eyeing his angel’s pussy with hunger.

“Oh…bugger it,” Aziraphale groaned, half-sober, achingly aroused, and completely infuriated. “We agreed no on fellatio, but we never said anything about cunnilingus in our terms, did we?”

Crowley, again, wanted to cry in victory. “No, angel. I don’t believe we did.” Instead, he smirked at his lover from between his legs as he lowered himself to feast.

And how could he waste such as precious gift, especially one offered so enthusiastically by his lover? Crowley groaned as licked the sopping entrance, holding down Aziraphale’s quaking thighs as he savored the angel’s sweet slick. He tongued between the folds enthusiastically, not yet stroking his lover’s inner walls and purposefully ignoring the hardened pearl as Aziraphale sobbed and cursed at him.

A rush of pleasure ran down his spine at that. Such a naughty angel he had in his midst and Crowley, besotted fool he was, rewarded such debauchery with a thorough seeing-to where his angel wanted it most.

The resounding scream torn from Aziraphale’s throat as Crowley licked, lapped, and teased at his clit was lovelier than any heavenly hymn created. Hands grabbed at his hair and Crowley growled in warning as his angel stubbornly kept him in place, torn between wordlessly begging for more and between tearing Crowley away from where he was most sensitive. At the sound his demon made, Aziraphale let go, grabbing on instead to the upholstery and frame of the couch, knuckles turning white as the poor dear held on for dear life. Crowley smirked and placed a teasing kiss to his clit for his good behavior, earning him another whimper from his angel.

Crowley released Aziraphale’s plush thighs in favor of opening his lover’s flower, pussylips glistening with slick and saliva. Such a lovely, lovely job his angel did in crafting his Effort, all to entice his demon. It really was a shame they couldn’t put it to full use.

But at the very least, he can make good on his promise of filling his angel’s aching cunt.

There may have been the splinter of old wood from where Aziraphale had been clutching, but it was wholly drowned out by his resounding cry as Crowley’s serpentine tongue entered him. The poor angel could do little more than sob as the demon kept a firm grip on his hips to keep him from fucking himself against his lover’s tongue.

Crowley moaned, blissed out from savoring the taste of his angel’s sopping pussy, feeling his angel’s soft, ample thighs squeezing him in place, and the sweet melody of each lustful little sound he made. He knew he was painfully hard; he knew if he’d been a demon of weaker wills, he would have taken this beautiful cunt and absolutely ruined it, as his angel has so deviously planned—

But _oh,_ having his mark on his angel—seeing it each time they made love, _knowing_ it was there to brand him as Crowley’s and Crowley’s alone—

Nothing could possibly compare.

Besides, there was always time to deflower his angel _again_ after this little contest of theirs was through.

Crowley felt his angel’s tight, hot channel spasm around his tongue before hearing the scream that followed. He moaned, very nearly cumming untouched at the heady taste of Aziraphale on his tongue, lips, and chin. Drawing away from between his angel’s thighs, he smiled at the thoroughly _sated_ smile on his angel’s lips.

Crowley leaned down, giving Aziraphale a taste of himself. His angel moaned, grasping onto his jacket as, just as the demon expected, the hedonistic thing couldn’t get enough.

* * *

It really hadn’t been Aziraphale’s intention.

Far from it, actually.

He was at ease in solitude and while Crowley’s company was always welcome, well… since their little wager began, more often than not, their interactions typically left Aziraphale teased to the point of despair or sated, yet _starving_ for completion of a different kind.

And since his, err…sexual debut1 around four months prior, his Effort had been more and more difficult to control, particularly with Crowley lurking around in wait to attack him while his defenses were low.

Aziraphale scoffed. He was a _Principality_ for goodness’s sake! He should have more control in himself than this—err. Well…then again, he did like his pleasures…and he did often indulge…but he was not _weak_ to pleasure, _oh no_ , Crowley would eat his words by the end of this!

Since masturbation was _definitely_ allowed (as seen through how Crowley had attempted to manipulate to his advantage), it wasn’t _wrong_ to indulge in this case…right? Right! Or, at least Aziraphale convinced himself of such as he turned off the front store lights at 4 PM that afternoon and switched his _Open_ sign to _Closed_. A quick miracle later and the locks were turned, and blinds were drawn. He half considered calling Crowley to let him know that he wouldn’t be in the mood for company, but decided against it. The demon had been quiet for the few days, likely scheming again, and while Aziraphale knew he should be doing the same to _tempt_ his hereditary-enemy-slash-best-friend-turned-lover, he couldn’t well do it with his head in a swirl over frustration. 

And…well, Crowley’s gone ahead and had a _taste_ of his new effort, but Aziraphale himself hadn’t had the opportunity to try it out on his own yet. Though, in all fairness, he had manifested it entirely to catch the demon off-guard and gauge his reactions. The result? Definite enthusiasm, but his dear heart was still far too stubborn to admit defeat.

Aziraphale was far from it as well. He sighed, settling into the familiar back rooms and tried very hard not to concentrate too much on the familiar demonic aura that had since permeated the space from Crowley’s frequenting. Aziraphale settled onto the sofa, feeling a rising tension despite the familiar position. Hurriedly, he undid his belt and buttons, letting the slacks pool at his ankles.

It felt a bit _wrong_ now without Crowley here…but Aziraphale shook the thought out his head immediately. Removing his trousers and undergarments, Aziraphale teased at the opening, a pleasant shiver running down his spine as he played with the labia with his middle finger, running a teasing fingertip to his clit, but noting to his disappointment that he wasn’t wet.

(Well, not as wet as when Crowley was between his legs—)

Ah…perhaps he just needed to relax a bit.

He miracled a book to his hand—one of his favorites for ah… _leisurely_ activities such as this, but after a few minutes, found it harder and harder to focus on the words and the graphic imagery it made. He gave up after a few minutes when he noticed he had been reading the top of the page again and again without comprehending a single word. Instead, his senses were lured by the strangely…intensifying essence of his demon around him, the bitter tang of darkness and sin that trailed after Crowley whenever he went.

Aziraphale set the book down and lost himself in memories; of smoldering kisses and teeth-sharp bites to his skin, the finger-tip bruises Crowley would leave on his hips and thighs, the _heat_ of him, sinking into his body again and again, slowly, desperately while they were making love; roughly, frantically, fucking into him like a beast in heat—

He was soaking now, cunt wet and aching for more despite the way hand sought to fill him, unsatisfied despite the jolts of pleasure when he played with the hardened pearl of his clit. Oh, how he wanted more—

“ _Oh…oh, Crowley_ ,” he whined, immediately ashamed at the pleading, sounding so debauched even in his own ears.

_“Yes, angel?”_

Aziraphale gasped, instinctively closing his legs out of humiliation, but immediately found it impossible to do so. Not with Crowley suddenly between them, eyeing him hungrily, thick, throbbing cock straining against his stomach. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” he growled, drawing Aziraphale to a brutal kiss.

Aziraphale was vaguely aware that Crowley had lowered them to the floor, the Persian rug there soft against his bare back—

And did Crowley miracle off the rest of his clothes?

When his demon drew away, Aziraphale felt his breath hitch in anticipation at the sight of Crowley, delightfully naked between his legs, pupils dilated with desire, and panting heavily. But then the foul fiend himself chuckled and placed a chaste kiss to his knee. “Sorry love, but I’m still not losing this one.”

Irritated beyond belief now, Aziraphale barely managed out a _“Wha—?!”_ before Crowley pressed his thighs together and lifted up his hips. There was the delicious slide and friction of Crowley’s cock between his inner thighs, the hardened shaft just grazing against the wet lips of his vulva and Aziraphale immediately whined in frustration.

 _“Fuck,_ angel—you’ve any idea how long I’ve waited to have you like this?” He grinned down at the seething glare in those sea-storm eyes. “All smooth and _tight,_ even here.” He gave his lover’s thighs a generous slap, watching the flesh there jiggle deliciously with every thrust. Again and again, the demon thrusted between his angel’s fat thighs, dripping and smearing precum on Aziraphale’s skin, and there couldn’t be a lovelier sight to the demon.

(Well, barring the times he actually got to fuck his angel.)

“Uhn— yes,” Aziraphale grimaced, more than a bit put off. “How very Greek of you.”

“Wanted it in Rome, actually,” Crowley corrected with a smirk before he angled his thrusts, rubbing the tip of his cock up against the sopping lips of his angel’s cunt. He savored the low whine from Aziraphale’s lips, the canting of those generous hips as he tried to slip the head of his cock inside. “No, no, none of that, Aziraphale,” Crowley warned, the very threads of self-control beginning to snap at the absolutely _delicious_ feast his lover made: all lovely hedonism and indulgence—his angel was made for pleasure.

And if this stubborn little thing would just give in, Crowley would happily give him all the pleasures he so desired.

“Not unless you surrender our little toss-up?” Crowley offered, already knowing the answer, and outright adoring the glower he received in turn.

“Oh, just finish already!” Aziraphale groused, the annoyance on his brow immediately erased with a gasp as Crowley bent him over as the demon’s thrusting became erratic in rhythm, the engorged head of Crowley’s lovely cock leaking precum to further lube the soft, tight passage. Aziraphale, much to his mortification, felt himself getting wetter at the near-brutal force between Crowley’s thrusts, at the sight of his thighs where Crowley was fucking them raw, chasing his own pleasure, all the while lovingly gazing at Aziraphale like he was a thing he owned.

_Because it’s true, isn’t it? You’re his. Like there was ever any doubt._

Aziraphale felt his cunt clench pitifully, trying to find more friction to tip him over the edge. As if sensing this, the demon again teased the head of his cock against his entrance, slipping between the lips and nudging at his clit, but never filling him where Aziraphale _desperately_ needed it. Then Crowley’s hips were stuttered to a halt and Aziraphale winced as hot cum splattered across his belly.

There was a wild, debauched look in Crowley’s eyes as he emptied himself between Aziraphale’s thighs, and the angel felt a gush of wetness from his own Effort at the _sight_ he made above him.

A second later, Crowley more or less collapsed in a happy heap next to him. Aziraphale felt a spike of irritation at the sated, smug look on his face at accomplishing one of his little fantasies. In unfortunate contrast, Aziraphale himself had yet to fully indulge.

Which was kind of the whole point of this evening anyways.

“I have to say, that was some good tempting there, love,” Crowley managed, reverting to his more affectionate state after orgasm (who knew the demon was a snuggler?). “But you’ll have to do more than that to tempt me into losing.”

 _Not that I was intending it to,_ Aziraphale bitingly thought. But that did raise the question he should have been asking all along. He turned to his lover, cuddling closer. “So, what _does_ it take to tempt you, Crowley?”

“Well, you should know, angel,” he murmured, apparently more than content to lay there on the old rug of Aziraphale’s dusty floors, latched on to Aziraphale’s side. “Y’ve been doing it for centuries.”

“Flatterer,” Aziraphale scoffed, but not without a flash of heat blushing his cheeks. Sweet as it was, that did little to help in his predicament. As they laid there in comfortable silence, Aziraphale scoured his brain for a solution and settled on to the to the errant advice of an old friend. “The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it, or so they say.”

“Don’t bring up bloody _Wilde_ in the afterglow, angel—”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “We were just friends, Crowley.”

“And he’s _wrong,_ by the way—there’s no _getting rid of temptation_ after you’ve given in to it. ‘s how vices are formed.” He hummed in contemplation. “Vices _and_ addictions.”

Aziraphale gave a silent gasp, brows raised. _Good to know._ “So, you’re saying giving in makes the temptation all the more…tempting?”

“’s what I said, angel,” his demon murmured, clearly not one for “pillow talk”—if this conversation could be labeled as such.

“Interesting,” Aziraphale said simply. “Very interesting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1- sexual debut is an actual, factual medical term for first penetrative sexual encounter. 
> 
> “The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful.” - Oscar Wilde, and yes, they really were just friends.


	3. Contracts and Commitments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a winner is named but really, they're both winners here.

The solution, in Aziraphale’s mind, was simple.

Initiating the steps to move forward with his plan, however, proved to be the problem. Because to go forth in one-upping his dear demon, he required a tad more information and at least a few hours to himself, which normally, wouldn’t be a problem at all. However, Crowley likely sensed something was amiss, that the gears were turning in Aziraphale’s head, and the tables in turn would well…turn. To avert this, Crowley did all in his wily power to drive Aziraphale up the wall to stop it.

Quite literally.

Aziraphale (reluctantly) wrenched away with a gasp and with barely a second to blink before Crowley went right for the jugular—

Or, whatever human equivalent of anatomy those pointed teeth latched on to, receiving quite the attention from Crowley’s mouth.

“Don’t think I didn’t catch you looking at me back at the convent,” he growled and Aziraphale cursed softly as those guttural words raced shivers down his spine. “I should have known,” Crowley hummed, licking and biting his way up from the line of Aziraphale’s neck, “that you’d be an _incorrigible_ thing, angel. Calling me _nice,_ riling me up just so I could put you in your place.”

A wave of heat made Aziraphale flush to the tips of his ears at the accusation—not an entirely incorrect accusation, but an accusation nevertheless. “And where would that place be, hm?” he teased, something dark and ancient from behind the heavenly makings of his corporation fluttering at the dangerous gleam in Crowley’s eyes.

“Why…right here, angel,” he purred. “Between a wall—”

Aziraphale let out a gasp, his newest Effort aching and wet as Crowley ground his clothed erection right where the angel needed it most.

“And a _hard_ place.”

“Oh, you’re terrible,” Aziraphale chuckled, his own grin widening at the feel of Crowley smiling against his skin.

“And don’t you forget it,” he growled, playfully this time, kissing his love soundly. “Big bad demon, me. Making plans to have his wicked way with this here sweet, innocent, angel.”

Aziraphale hummed, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder and hardly flinching when Crowley snapped his finger and found himself gently lowered to a luxurious bed with high thread count sheets. “And how are those plans going, dear?”

 _“Augh,_ ” he sighed dramatically and Aziraphale gave a soothing and somewhat condescending kiss to his demon’s temple. “Terribly. You’re very stubborn, you know that?”

“I’ve been told so once or twice,” the angel replied with an indulgent smile, allowing himself to be undressed.

Several of their nights ended like this. No matter who instigated it (Crowley, more often than not), they’d eventually make their way to the bookshop couch or Crowley’s bed and have an absolutely lovely—if not _frustrating_ —time together. It was nearly three weeks in counting since their little wager and while both parties don’t seem to be letting up any time soon, Aziraphale was still hopeful that he had the ace up his sleeve.

Now if only he could play his turn…

Once Crowley had carefully and fully divested his angel out of his well-loved clothes, it only took a snap of a finger for Crowley to remove all his and lie atop Aziraphale’s soft, supple body. Aziraphale, in turn, sighed with contentment as he carded through Crowley’s red hair, wondering just how to wiggle out of Crowley’s near-constant bombardments.

(Not that he’s really complaining.)

“Not getting sleepy, are you?” Crowley murmured as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth. “Should I be offended?”

“No, dearest,” Aziraphale chuckled. “Just thinking, I suppose.”

“Always thinking,” Crowley groused as he nuzzled into the crook of his angel’s neck, hand wandering with renewed interest over his lover’s body. “It’s a wonder how you haven’t gone mad without giving that brain of yours to rest.”

Sea-storm eyes widened. _Well… there’s an idea._

Although Aziraphale was still a bit new when it came to the whole ‘sleeping’ ordeal, he could see the merits it held. For one, a well-rested demon was an agreeable demon, Crowley was absolutely _adorable_ when he was warm and sated, teetering between the waking world and dreams, and it gave Aziraphale the time he needed to read, scheme, and plan while basking in the warmth and love he shared with his wily serpent.

All right, he didn’t really all that much sleeping himself, but Aziraphale rather liked the time they shared together, and as with all things he so dearly loved, he was prepared to fully indulge in it. Why would he waste that time unconscious?

“So, which is it, dear? Are you telling me I should sleep more or risk offending you?” he teased.

“I’m telling you,” Crowley purred as he straddled his lover’s hips, his hard cock leaking against Aziraphale’s belly. “That sometimes, you ought to lie back and just _enjoy_ it.”

And judging by the firm, fervent kisses Crowley was pressing onto his body, serpentine tongue wandering lower and lower to watch Aziraphale squirm and pant beneath him, his dear demon had his own plans in mind to “indulge” this evening.

* * *

An orgasm or three later (with neither party surrendering their games just yet), Aziraphale collapsed back onto the bed with an exhausted sigh while Crowley positively _radiated_ with contentment, smug as can be from between Aziraphale’s legs. _Insatiable_ , Aziraphale thought, but not without a deep resonation of love from his own ethereal heart as Crowley slithered over to lay beside him, all tension and bravado gone from those lovely, lovely eyes of his. There, he gazed back to Aziraphale unflinchingly, without his glasses, and without the veneer of detachment. All that was left was love, powerful and engulfing, and a hunger that refused to be slaked once a taste had been given. Deep within him, Aziraphale knew where it rooted from—

Crowley had been the one waiting 6,000 years after all. Aziraphale, meanwhile, had only truly known is own heart a few decades prior. And Crowley—Crowley _never_ rushed him. Never pressured him into choosing, deciding, and always left the pacing to Aziraphale in the end.

(Well, barring one frantic moment of trying to get the angel to run away to the stars with him, but that was mostly the apocalypse speaking. Or at least, Aziraphale assumed that were the case.) 

Aziraphale was always grateful, but he sometimes wondered just how much 6,000 years of waiting and despairing, hoping and longing, had affected Crowley. Perhaps it made him cynical of Aziraphale and his feelings—maybe even believing them fleeting or insincere. Perhaps marking the angel as his own would give the demon some semblance of control over an otherwise desolate situation.

Or perhaps Aziraphale was overthinking the entire situation all together, like Crowley had said earlier. Perhaps his demon just happened to be a kinky, _wretched_ fiend and liked seeing his lover branded for his eyes to see.

But as before, perhaps these weren’t the right questions Aziraphale was asking. Perhaps what he really ought to ask, now that Crowley was all practically boneless in satisfaction and compliance was: “What does it entail, anyways?”

Crowley gave a lazy, “Hm?” in reply as he blearily lifted his head from the curve of Aziraphale’s well-marked neck.

“The branding. With your sigil,” he elaborated.

That perked the demon right up. “Oh? Finally giving in?” Crowley gave a waggle of his brow, a bright excitement in his eyes that Aziraphale had to regretfully kiss away before his demon got too upset.

“Of course not, you foul fiend,” he chided as he drew away. “I’m merely curious, that’s all…what does the sigil do?”

Crowley eyes became unreadable then, a sure sign that Aziraphale would likely not agree with the details to come. “Marks you as mine, of course,” he said simply, but one look from Aziraphale made it very clear that this wasn’t something the angel was letting go of any time soon. Crowley breathed a sigh, tension returning to his form. “It’s…It’s to let others know,” he relented.

Aziraphale raised a brow. “Know…?”

“That you,” he growled, biting along the column of Aziraphale’s throat, “are indisputably _mine_.” There was a strange intensity in those amber eyes as Crowley seemed to internally war with himself, perhaps amending a phrase here and there for Aziraphale’s benefit as he began to explain: “It’s a modified Contract. One that other demons will recognize.”

 _Contract_.

Aziraphale tried his damnest not to flinch at that.

It didn’t just stain a soul, it _branded_ it down to the very essence—a mark that it was promised to a demon; that the soul would be bound to the powers of Hell and chained for its servitude for all eternity.

But this was _not_ the kind of Contract Crowley spoke of: “It’ll warn them that touching you— _harming_ you—will be a direct offense to me.” He cupped his angel’s cheek, watching those sea-storm eyes transfixed upon him. “The sigil is to mark your entire being…your soul, your everything…as belonging to me.”

Not Hell’s then. This was not Hell’s sigil, but _Crowley’s_.

He would be bound and branded for all eternity—

To _Crowley._

“Oh…” Aziraphale said simply, almost appalled at himself at the rush of arousal at this one, wondrous, _terrifying_ thought.

Well, he would be appalled were it not for the way tension visibly fled his lover at his mortifying response. Crowley’s lips curved to a devious smile at the sharp spike of _lust_ from his angel. “Does that scare you, love?”

_Do I scare you?_

By all intents and purposes, it should. It should for a fretful being like Aziraphale, prone to dithering and second-guessing every important decision he’s ever had to make, it would only be natural.

Yet it doesn’t. “No…” he nuzzled his cheek against Crowley’s palm, watching with fascination as those serpentine eyes dilated with want and the air about them flooded with a vast, immersing love. “I don’t believe it does.”

_Because it’s true, isn’t it?_

Aziraphale fought for control in their relationship from the start: adamantly disagreeing to the arrangement, squabbling of the location of rendezvous points, the labeling of their relationship, the _holy water_ —and Crowley going _too fast_ for his dishonest heart.

_I’ve been yours—right from the Beginning._

And Aziraphale…Aziraphale was tired of fighting. With that, he drew Crowley to him, six millennia of hunger, passion, and longing bleeding into single kiss.

Aziraphale withdrew with a gentle peck to his lover’s reddened mouth, chuckling as Crowley immediately chased his lips again. “But mark my words dearest, I’m still not losing our toss-up.”

“Oh, you utter _brat_ ,” Crowley growled, mischief in his eyes and startling a laugh from him as his demon redoubled his efforts to get his hereditary enemy to give in. 

* * *

Aziraphale only needed a few hours. A whole day, preferably. Two to three days ideally.

Miraculously, Crowley remained quiet long enough for him to enact his plans.

(It was well worth the extra day or two spent between his lover’s sheets to whittle down his demon’s frustrations and suspicions.)

When he had arrived, _sure,_ he’d gotten strange looks, what with his chosen aesthetic (tartan _is_ stylish, and Aziraphale will carry that sentiment for however long eternity lasts) contrasting with his err…rather strange and bold request. Even the fine young lady at the establishment was sweet enough to offer him an out as well as heavily recommending against his decision—which was a fairly noble thing to do.

But Aziraphale’s mind was made up and he paid in cash. With that, their session began.

It was— _different_ and just a little bit embarrassing, but the young lady was patient and Aziraphale was an ethereal being who’d been present at the very Garden where mankind had first began. Or, at least he told himself that just as the strange noises began and a foreign blossom of pain drilled its way through his nervous system. The first few hours weren’t so bad, even the first day, but now Aziraphale was truly feeling the aftermath a little under 48 hours later.

It wasn’t the _worst_ feeling in the world. For an ethereal being who’d gotten discorporated, it couldn’t possibly compare.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like the dickens.

It was just past five in the afternoon and three hours after Aziraphale gave up and decided to close early when the shop’s doors opened with a bit of demonic miracling. Aziraphale groaned, the tick of panic that surfaced wholly drowned out by the throbbing and burning discomfort.

“Hello, angel,” a sultry voice from within the back rooms called and Aziraphale, against himself, jolted in surprise.

“Oh, Crowley…” He cleared his throat, attempting to put on a placid smile. “What brings you here, dearest?”

His demon emerged from the shadows of a dimly lit corner with that same, teasing grin he always wore whenever he had plans to chip away at the angel’s remaining resolve. “Why, didn’t you miss me?” Before Aziraphale could retort, Crowley was upon him, pinning him to his reading chair with just enough force to get Aziraphale a little hot and bothered. “Because I’ve missed you, love.” He leaned down, once he was satisfied with the cloudy look of lust in his angel’s eyes, lips barely brushing against Aziraphale’s mouth. “What is it, day 19 of our little bargain? What say you to giving in, hm? Let me have you, take care of you like you want...”

It was actually day twenty, but Aziraphale tamped down on the urge to argue—after all it wasn’t as though Crowley weren’t counting down the days since he last came inside him.

So instead, Aziraphale said nothing as he leaned forward halfway to meet Crowley in a kiss. Crowley shivered in delight at the way his angel was drawn to him, practically melted against him, and he made sure to reward such pleasing behavior. Dexterous hands wandered, shucking off his lover’s coat and quickly divesting the rest of the offending material covering up such lovely, soft skin from his greedy eyes. Fingertips mapped the roads between his lover’s hips and Crowley reveled in the angel’s soft form. He startled when Aziraphale broke away with a yelp right as he brushed against the small of his angel’s back. “What’s a matter, angel? Snake got your tongue?”

But then Crowley raised a brow at the nervous titter of laughter that earned him. _“A-ah,_ no, of course not!” Serpentine eyes glowered. To confirm his suspicions, Crowley gave a firm press to that exact spot, drawing a jolt and a whimper. “Ouch! My dear, please be very careful!”

“What’s happened?” he demanded, pulling Aziraphale from his reading chair and twisting him around. “Are you hurt?”

The unspoken demand of _Did someone hurt you_ rang loud and clear.

Aziraphale spun around to face him, swatting the demon’s hands away. “I’m all right Crowley.” His eyes softened and he gave a quick peck to his demon’s lips in reassurance. “I hear this sort of thing takes a while to recover from, that’s all.”

Amber eyes narrowed and Crowley’s mouth curled in outrage. “Recover from _what?!”_

Before Aziraphale could even muster up a coy explanation, he was being crowded over to the couch and flipped over; he then found his trousers being pulled down and coat ridden up for Crowley’s inspection.

Then—silence.

Aziraphale expected some sort of teasing, a wicked laugh followed by a desirous touch to the marked skin. He didn’t anticipate the furious roar that eventually followed.

Aziraphale tried turning around but found it impossible to do so. “ _Crowley_ —”

Not with his lover pinning him down, lifting his hips to get a better look at the tattoo freshly inked on his skin. “My mark…that’s _my_ mark—”

“Is it now?” Aziraphale asked coquettishly, biting back a sly grin. “I really hadn’t noticed.”

But Crowley seemed too transfixed on the ink to give a proper reprimand. Instead, he traded the edges and watched his darling lover squirm beneath him. He swallowed as his mouth watered with hunger. “Angel—it’s my _mark_ on your fantastic derriere,” he repeated, the reality of the statement sinking in and causing him to growl, a burning possessiveness boiling in his blood. “Isn’t it, _my_ angel?”

It didn’t escape Aziraphale’s notice. “Yes—and this derriere happens to be quite sensitive—”

“But oh, love, you’ve always liked a little bit of pain, don’t you?” Aziraphale bit down a whimper as Crowley reached down and thumbed his hard clit, his cunt already dripping from the rough treatment. “ _Yesss_ , let me get a good look…” And his hips were suddenly being lifted up higher, ass in the air as Crowley groped and grabbed at the ample flesh. “Poor thing, it’s all red and raw here…” The angel stifled a cry as Crowley pressed hard against the skin before soothing the hurt with firm, hungry kisses. “You bruise beautifully, my darling…” he murmured almost reverently. “It really is too bad this _cheap_ imitation has to mar your lovely skin.”

Aziraphale sputtered. _“Cheap!?”_

“Oh yes, skillfully made, I must admit, but _thisss,_ ” Aziraphale stifled a cry, trying fruitlessly to squirm out of Crowley’s grasp at the unexpected swat to his bottom, “Isn’t a proper _mark_ , love.” And to Aziraphale’s utter horror, felt himself wet at the guttural tone his lover took on as he inspected his backside with thinly veiled fury. _“Oh no…this won’t do at all.”_

Aziraphale bit his cheek to keep from grinning, victory at his grasp. “Ah yes, I did read up on that bit. The mark needs to be consummated to bind the soul, isn’t that right?” More guttural growls behind him and Aziraphale had to calm his stammering heart and mounting excitement. “Otherwise, I’m just parading around in a mockery of your sigil.” 

_“Correct,”_ Crowley growled, lovely and dark and sending all the right sorts of shivers down his spine. 

“And do you—intend on rectifying this…” he gave his rump a little wiggle, delighting in the lusty, frustrated noise it drew from his lover. “… _offense_?”

Meanwhile, Crowley could do little more than glare and refrain from taking his angel—his absolute _bastard_ of an angel—and mark the spoilt, smarmy thing the _proper_ way right then and there. “ _Yessss_ …”

“And how do you plan on—consummating this— _ah!”_ Crowley grinned, dipping a finger or three into the tight, _wet_ heat of his lover’s pussy. “Contract of ours?” Aziraphale managed to gasp out.

“Oh you know _exactly_ how I plan on it, you little minx,” he said, a threat more than a promise as he withdrew his hand, smirking in the moan it earned him when his fingers came out glistening with his lover’s slick.

But then Aziraphale turned over to his back, grinning up at him with those sea-storm eyes alight with mirth and _triumph._ And Crowley wanted nothing more than to fuck that pretty look right off his pretty face. “Does this mean you concede to our terms, Crowley?”

He was fully prepared to do just that: it was a loss, there was no sense in denying it. His angel played him like a fiddle. “I concede, Aziraphale,” Crowley admitted with a dark, dark look in his eyes. 

Yet Crowley wanted to howl in victory the moment Aziraphale miracled the rest of his clothes off and spread his legs. “Let’s get a wiggle on, then.”

Crowley was upon him in an instant, cock aching and hard against his lover’s entrance. “You clever, _cruel,_ angel—” he moaned, slicking himself with the wetness between his lover’s folds. “ _My_ angel, _my_ clever, _cruel_ angel—”

Aziraphale wriggled and thrashed, hooking a leg over his demon to get him closer, to get the head of his cock to fill him where he needed it. _“Ah—ah,_ _yes!”_ He squealed as Crowley grounded his cock over his labia, over his clit. “Yours, darling,” he sighed in half-exasperation, half-relief. “Frustratingly, yours.”

His angel gave a wanton cry as Crowley bit down on his ever-sensitive neck. “Giving me exactly what I want and still making me lose, hm?” he growled against his ear. “Well, hate to break it to you, love, but _thissss_ ,” he hissed as he finally— _finally_ sank inside Aziraphale’s hot cunt. “Doesn’t exactly make me feel like a sore loser.”

“ ** _Fuck_** — _Ah!”_

It was one of the few times Crowley heard Aziraphale curse out loud. Apparently the first time it had happened, he hadn’t been there—but he savored the rare occasion, nevertheless.

Right now, however, nothing else seemed to register in his mind other than the primal, feral, _animalistic_ thoughts of _Hot. Tight. **Mine**_. Crowley surged forward, filling his angel to the brim and nearly losing his damned mind when Aziraphale clenched maddeningly around him and felt a gush of wetness spill from his pussy followed by an ecstatic cry.

He looked down to the thoroughly mortified look on his lover’s face but Crowley merely grinned, his ego thoroughly stroked in the heat of his lover’s tight walls. “Poor thing, came just from me putting it in?” Crowley then set forth a brutal, punishing rhythm, pumping into that sweet, sweet cunt, watching with lust-filled eyes at the pretty, utterly _ruined_ look that belonged on his angel’s face as he held him down and _fucked him_ like he was meant for it. “Oh darling, I hope you’re ready for more—” Aziraphale wailed again, oversensitive and absolutely out of his mind with pleasure. “So much more,” he purred, the frantic rhythm of his hips threatening to push Aziraphale over the edge again.

He bit and bruised his lover’s flesh, saving sweet, tender kisses for his angel’s mouth in-between the cries and moans spilling from them.

This _bloody_ wager—this bloody wager had him depriving himself from fucking his lover, from taking and debauching this uppity, prim, _bastard_ love of his life. And what did his angel do? He’d gone and _incorrectly_ marked himself just to goad Crowley into doing all the work of putting a _proper_ sigil on him.

Go—Sata— _Someone_ -damnit, he _loved_ him.

But if this was meant to be a consummation—then his angel needed to put his effort in it too. With that, Crowley snapped his finger and the pair found themselves back to Crowley’s bed.

(Just where his angel belonged.)

Without pulling out from that delicious, addicting heat, he brought Aziraphale forward while he himself fell on his back. _“Ride me,”_ he growled out, nearly losing himself as his angel flushed a lovely shade of rose and began experimentally raising and dropping his hips.

 _Fuck,_ Crowley was right—his angel looked best painted in the dark hues of dusk, all heavenly twilight shrouded in shades of carnal desire and sensual shadows. Crowley gripped at the sheets as Aziraphale bounced on the generous cock his demon gifted him with more confidence, tilting his head back and letting pants and moans drip from his kiss-reddened mouth as he began to chase his own pleasure.

Crowley watched on with lust-hazed eyes at the _gorgeous_ sight his angel made, frantically foregoing rhythm as desperation nipped at his heels, eyeing the lewd image of where his lover’s pussy swallowed him to the base of his cock again and again. He fucked himself so very enthusiastically, little gasps and whines filling the air and the demon felt a flash of heat overtake him before mercifully deciding to “help” his lover along.

_“A-ah! Crowley!”_

And by “help,” he meant matching his lover’s sloppy rhythm and angling his thrusts to reach even deeper.

“That’s it, angel,” Crowley growled out, grabbing onto his ample hips to keep him going at the same pace. “You can hold on for just a little while longer, can’t you love?”

 _“I—oh, please, I can’t—”_ More piteous mewls as his darling angel’s hips slowed instead, grinding and rubbing his tight walls while fully seated on Crowley’s cock, so endearingly close to completion and too oversensitized to drive himself over the edge.

Crowley wouldn’t dare admit that it took a literal miracle to stave off cumming at the _sight_ and _feel_ of his lover, so wet and hot around him, his bites and bruises littering his angel’s holy flesh, and begging so _deliciously_ for Crowley to take care of him. But if his spoilt angel wanted to cum, Crowley felt the sadistic _need_ to see his precious love work for it.

(All right, so maybe Crowley was a _bit_ of a sore loser.)

A little bit more “encouraging” with firm swats to his fat bottom finally got Aziraphale matching his pace, his cunt tightening lusciously as his hips stuttered to maintain rhythm. Crowley grinned, something dark and wild in the turn of his lips and the flash of his teeth that sent an aweing mix of pride and shame burning across the angel’s cheeks.

“That’s it, you’re doing so well, you look so fucking _lovely_ like _thissss_ , let me savor it, darling, let me watch you work yourself on my cock,” Crowley purred, expertly toying and teasing his angel with filthy, _filthy_ praise that he knew Aziraphale so ached to hear. 

But from the piteous cries that followed, the quivering of his lover’s thighs, and _especially_ at the way Aziraphale slumped forward and on top of Crowley, his _insatiable_ angel was cumming again, losing himself with another fantastic cry.

Aziraphale had a gasp or two of breath before he was flipped over onto all fours, Crowley draping himself over his back. He bit back a whine as Crowley pulled out, his own slick dribbling down between his legs and feeling himself miserably empty before he felt that hard Effort rubbing against the rim of his asshole. Aziraphale instinctively pressed back, desperate to get his lover’s cock in him again. He knew Crowley hadn’t cum yet, knew that his demon was going to draw out his orgasm and make Aziraphale _wait_ to feel his cum spill deep inside him. He just didn’t know if Crowley was intending to make Aziraphale beg or if this was simply his demon’s consolation prize.

His lover _did_ love depriving himself so…

“Impatient thing,” Crowley cooed, slicking up his fingers with Aziraphale’s own juices. He pressed a finger inside past the tight ring of muscle and savored the gasp that followed as he played with his lover’s prostate. “Give me that chubby little cock of yours, angel. I love your pretty cunt, don’t get me wrong,” he had the absolute _pleasure_ of deflowering his angel yet again with it, after all, “but I want a nice, _thick_ Effort to play with while I fuck you.”

His angel whimpered, knowing full well he’d be embarrassingly hard and wouldn’t last long with Crowley so keen on tormenting him like this. But nevertheless, he did as he was told—

It was quite impossible for him to do otherwise, after all.

“ _Yesss_ , that’s it, love,” he murmured, pumping another finger into his angel’s tight heat. His grin grew wider as he eyed the heavy cock from between Aziraphale’s plump thighs and rewarded his darling with a few generous strokes, earning himself some sweet, keening noises in return. “There we go, _such_ a good angel for me.” He played with the pearling tip as he worked his lover loose, a flash of want pooling at his cock at how hard his lover had gotten already.

After working a third finger, nudging them against the little spot inside his angel’s arse that made such precious little cries spill from his mouth, the taut tethers of Crowely’s control began to fray and snap—

Especially at the way his angel started _fucking_ himself against his fingers.

“Easy now, love,” he hissed, eyes dark with want as he withdrew his fingers and trained his gaze to the _mockery_ of his sigil. He should be proud, he knew. His angel was a devious little thing and didn’t mind playing dirty to get what he wanted. Sweet, naïve Aziraphale, walking to a parlour and asking for a damned _tramp stamp_ of his lover’s tattoo just above that lovely, _lovely_ arse of his. All to wickedly entice his demon to _fuck_ that imitation right off his skin and mark him the way he _deserved_ to be marked.

Crowley shivered with delight, his lubed cock ( _miracles_ were so very useful, weren’t they?) positively dripping as he pressed the head inside. And at the familiar, _lovely_ feel of that his angel’s walls hugging his cock, the last thread snapped as Crowley slammed all the way inside.

Aziraphale a long, wanton cry as his arms gave out from beneath him, hardly able to brace himself with his bottom in the air as Crowley brutally fucked into him, white-hot flashes of pleasure running down his how body and making his cock drip at every savage thrust and every cruel stroke to his cock.

At the back of his mind, Crowley knew he should congratulate himself for reducing his lingual, _loud_ lover to nothing more than moans, whimpers, and adorable little monosyllables that pieced together his name. But at that moment, all he could think about was making up for _twenty_ days of going without fucking his lover until he saw the very stars he created dancing before his own eyes; _twenty_ days of going without sending his angel to the brink of ecstasy and watching with swelling pride and love at how thoroughly he’d ruined him; _twenty_ days of going without spilling deep inside his lover, marking the angel as _his_ both inside and out.

And now—

Crowley chuckled, eyes gleaming as anticipation and love crested through the haze of lust and hunger.

Now, he was going to give his angel _just_ what he asked for.

He made sure to stroke his angel in time with his thrusts sending him to the precipice of completion. Oh, he could feel it. Could feel it in his lover’s trembles, the pitches in his cries, and the tightening of his walls around him.

He leaned over his lover, hissing into his ear, “Are you ready, angel? Are you ready to surrender yourself to me? You’ll be mine for eternity, Aziraphale.” Crowley bit down on his shoulder to the point of almost drawing blood as exhilaration roiled in his veins. “There’s no escaping me now.”

Aziraphale gave a breathless chuckle, finding his voice between gasps and sharp cries. “Silly serpent…I’ve been yours from the Beginning.” He turned back, sea-storm eyes bright and full of _love—_ soft, beautiful, _perfect **love**_ — gazing back at him. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

No miracle in existence could have stopped Crowley from cumming at that very second.

It was a good thing that Aziraphale likely didn’t notice—not with the way he _screamed_ in completion as Crowley’s sigil burned and bound itself into his very essence—his very existence.

Crowley let out a moan, hips stuttering as he continued to fill his lover, and, as a bone-deep happiness dizzily danced down his veins, he and Aziraphale collapsed into a sated heap together. He kissed and worshipped every inch of skin he could get a hold of, something warm that ached wonderfully rooting itself in his chest as Aziraphale smiled and laughed and held him close. When Crowley had softened, he pulled out and carefully laid them down side by side, his hands soothing over where his mark was branded at the small of his angel’s back.

“Well…how is it?” his angel asked after a few moments collecting himself.

“Lovely,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to his angel’s forehead. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Oh?” his angel chuckled.

“ _Yessss_ ,” he hissed out, almost giddy with pride. “It suits you quite well, if I do say so myself.”

“I’m glad,” his angel murmured, post-orgasmic high keeping him cuddly and contented in Crowley’s arms.

The demon basked in it, absentmindedly humming in agreement as he curled impossibly closer to _his_ angel. His warm, soft angel.

“I’m hoping you feel the same way about that ensemble I’ve selected for you.”

Crowley opened one bleary eye to half-glare at his angel, but found that he couldn’t even muster up a flicker of irritation. Not at the stupidly smug grin on his angel’s face that Crowley wanted to smother with a kiss.

And realizing that he could do just that, he did.

* * *

“I hate children.”

“You do _not,_ ” Aziraphale chided. “We took care of one for nearly six years.”

“I hated him, too,” Crowley muttered as he settled down onto the chair next to his angel. _“Mister demon, why are you dressed like my gran’s armchair?_ The little—”

“Crowley, he’s _twelve—_ ” Aziraphale rolled his eyes, biting back a laugh at his morose companion. “Buck up, my dear. At that age, the pinnacle of dress involves a solid colored tee shirt with some…sort of bebop on it.”

 _Yeah, and even they know this garb is outright atrocious, angel,_ he thought. Good _lord_ he looked like he’d just gotten fired from his job as a librarian. Or maybe like he’d stepped out of the Tardis. But, as per agreement, he wore the monstrosity without complaint and maybe even with pride.

It wasn’t hard to do, certainly not with Aziraphale beaming happily at him as they greeted the anti-apocalypse brigade for their one-year anniversary—err, well, belated anniversary. Had to reschedule since the two occult/ethereal beings who stood by Adam’s side went mysteriously missing for a few months.

“So, what kept you two?” the medium asked from across the tea table with a twinkle in her eye.

“Oh—well, we were just enjoying our newfound freedom from, ah, corporate,” Aziraphale said. It was Crowley’s turn to beam with pride. His angel’s gotten better at fibbing—or _bending_ the truth, as it were.

“Oh, that must be nice!” the nervous human—Salamander or something—supplied. “Been a good honeymoon, eh?”

Crowley will absolutely deny ever snickering at the way his angel gripped the teacup so tightly, the handle snapped right in two.

“Yes, very lovely! Congratulations you two!” the book-girl added, smile widening the redder Aziraphale became. “Oh, don’t be so shy—it’s written all over you!”

 _“Written?_ W-written where?” his angel squeaked.

And just because Crowley was _not_ a nice demon, he leaned down, murmuring to Aziraphale’s ear, “Oh you know _exactly_ where, angel.”

His bastard of an angel jabbed him with his elbow in retaliation. _“Hush,_ Crowley.”

“I mean, the matching plaid—"

“Tartan,” his lover sniffed.

“And maybe the fact that you two arrived arm-in-arm?” the book-girl raised a brow.

”And the fact that ye’ve been trailing after the southern pansy like a starved mutt,” the (soon-to-be _dead_ ) witch-finder muttered under his breath, with a pointed look at the demon.

Crowley scoffed, waiting for the inevitable waffling that usually came about, but to his—pleasant—surprise, found Aziraphale replying with: “Erm, well yes. We ah, both are—romantically involved, thank you for pointing that out.”

And _something_ —

Something tremendous, terrifying, and terribly _beautiful_ blossomed in Crowley’s chest at that. Crowley didn’t know how long he just sat there, mouth agape and staring blankly at his angel who continued to squirm uncomfortably but answering _honestly_ , but when he mentally came-to, he looked down to the little tartan bowtie his angel was so fond of and looked over on his own garish attire.

 _Huh_.

Really, if this was his angel’s own way of marking Crowley as his—wearing their love and relationship with beaming pride on his demon’s literal sleeves—then Crowley figured he could stand to wear the tartan.

Love it, even.

Marking went both ways, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So tl;dr: Crowley lost but Aziraphale got a tramp stamp of his sigil anyways. Because that’s true love.
> 
> Of note, age and body habitus can affect how people perceive pain. So while getting a tramp stamp may be less painful than getting a tattoo on an area like the temple like Crowley (aka a place where it’s directly overlaying bone), I also imagine Aziraphale not very used to bodily pain (at least not the un-fun kind of pain) and he probably bruises like a peach.
> 
> Also, because Crowley didn’t win their little wager, he didn’t get to put his sigil on his angel’s “delicious arse.” He had to make do with a sigil tramp stamp instead.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm over on tumblr @new-endings if you'd like to say hello~


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